


If At First You Don't Succeed...

by VioletOrchid18



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Future Fic, Implied Masturbation, M/M, Post-Canon, Social Media, Yuri Plisetsky POV, Yurio doesn't know how to flirt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 12:44:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9385769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VioletOrchid18/pseuds/VioletOrchid18
Summary: Yuri Plisetsky is a twenty year old former prodigy of men’s figure skating. He won the Grand Prix Final in his debut year at fifteen years old and has since become a world champion several times over, not to mention an Olympic silver medalist.He never thought he’d die from something as mundane as a fucking earring.Or, Yuri has a lot of feelings and has no idea how to handle them.





	

_Otabek Altin has posted a photo._

* * *

Yuri doesn't usually check his phone during practice, which is why he doesn't see the Instagram notification until he’s eating lunch in the rink's tiny cafeteria. His phone is a welcome distraction from watching Victor and Katsudon make cow eyes at each other over their food. If Yuri hears one more cheesy pet name come out of Victor's mouth, he is going to vomit all over the both of them and make Mila clean it up. 

This is what he gets for asking the two idiots to coach him after Yakov announced his retirement last year. 

Well, technically he had ~~demanded~~ asked Victor, but where Victor is, Katsudon is sure to be also so it was kind of a 2-for-1 deal that forces Yuri to watch their constant love show on a daily basis.

Stabbing his meager salad with one hand, he opens the photo app with the other and is greeted by a profile of Otabek's face. The Kazakh skater isn’t looking at the camera but staring off into the distance. There’s no caption.

Yuri is confused. Otabek rarely posts anything on social media, let alone close-ups of his face. The few posts his Instagram account does have consist of photos taken all over Almaty—sunrises over the city skyline, quiet side streets—as Otabek re-learns the city he was forced to leave behind years ago in order to chase his dreams. But upon closer inspection, Yuri sees what the focus of the picture _really_ is and promptly drops his phone into his pile of greens. Unfortunately, this does more to saturate his phone with salad dressing more than remove the offending picture from the screen.

A small, black hoop is threaded through Otabek’s left earlobe. The sunlight in the picture highlights its matte finish. It’s-it’s—

 _Sexy_ , his mind unhelpfully supplies. 

Yuri Plisetsky is a twenty year old former prodigy of men’s figure skating. He won the Grand Prix Final in his debut year at fifteen years old and has since become a world champion several times over, not to mention an Olympic silver medalist. 

He never thought he’d die from something as mundane as a fucking earring. He can feel a stirring in the pit of his stomach that has absolutely nothing to do with his subpar lunch. 

"Yurio, what are you looking at?” Of course Victor chooses now to take a break from practically hand feeding Katsudon to try to peer over Yuri's shoulder at the screen. 

“NOTHING! Mind your own damn business old man!” But Victor didn’t become a five time world champion by having slow reflexes _._ He swipes Yuri’s phone out from the salad bowl, easily maneuvering around Yuri’s attempts to grab it back/punch him in the face. Either would be fine.

“Ooooh! Seems like the Hero of Kazakhstan is going for more of a bad boy persona! He’ll have to fight off the admirers with his skates this season!” Victor shows his husband, who seems more concerned about the amount of salad dressing dripping off of Yuri’s phone than the Instagram post. Katsudon wipes the phone off with a spare towel. Whatever, it’s fine. His grandpa forced him to get the extended warranty on his phone since he has a tendency to hurl it at the nearest hard surface when he’s frustrated or angry. He may have grown out of throwing temper tantrums at every opportunity, but he’s no saint. Fucking Otabek, fucking earring. If Katsudon didn’t have the phone it’d probably be soaring across the room anyways. 

But that doesn’t mean Yuri wants to talk about this with these sappy geezers. Victor already tried to have the Sex Talk with him once, he doesn’t need a repeat performance. “Give it back you losers! Don’t you have better things to do than steal my shit?” Yuri lunges across the table and snatches the phone out of Katsudon’s hand. 

Victor giggles, actually fucking _giggles_. “Ooooh Yurio is all flustered because of Otabek’s new earring. Could the Russian Snow Kitten has a crush?” 

Yuri sees red. “IT’S RUSSIAN ICE TIGER YOU MORON!” 

His phone’s arc across the room is rudely interrupted by the cafeteria window. Guess he’ll have to cash in on the warranty. Again.

* * *

Yuri isn’t so unprofessional that he lets the shitstorm of emotion swirling deep in his gut distract him from running his new short like a man possessed all through the rest of practice. Victor's choreography seems just as difficult as it was when he was fifteen and around 7 cm shorter. He's glad he took the older man's advice to take it easy for a few months after last season while he learned to adjust to his new limbs that felt miles longer than they did a mere one year ago. Not that he'd ever tell the fucker. Victor's ego is inflated enough _thank you very much_.

But when he returns to his apartment, the thoughts he had pushed to the recesses of his mind begin to trickle back into the forefront, like a stream that’s been improperly dammed. Yuri flops onto his couch and re-opens Instagram and stares at Otabek's most recent post. He can feel his face heat up again as he stares at the tiny piece of jewelry. 

No one, especially Yuri himself, couldn’t have predicted the practically seamless way Otabek slotted into his life after that first Grand Prix final. They’d exchanged phone numbers and followed each other on their various social media outlets before leaving Barcelona. Yuri had immediately liked Otabek’s most recent photo and thought that would probably be the extent of their interactions in between seeing each other at various competitions. 

But a week after the final, Otabek sent Yuri a viral video of a cat moving along a wall to the tune of a song introduction before falling dramatically as the intro reached a crescendo. Yuri laughed so hard that the water he ha been drinking shot out of his nose and then proceeded to chase down each member of the Russian skating team and shove the video in their faces. 

Gradually, the occasional internet meme became sporadic text messages which became Skype calls a few times a week which became visits when they could manipulate their hectic schedules in their favor. Five years later and there’s no question that Otabek has carved out his own dedicated space in Yuri’s life with the single-minded determination that he’s known for in their respective sport.

It's not like it’s the first time Yuri’s had these thoughts about Otabek either. He’s a professional athlete, not a dumbass. Anyone with eyes can see that Otabek is pretty fucking attractive with his tan skin, hard muscles, and edgy undercut. Yuri’s Angels may get the award for being the most rabid fanbase amongst figure skaters, but Otabek’s built himself a pretty stable following of fans over the years as well, some of whom who know little to nothing about skating.

But it’s not just Otabek’s looks. It’s the way he’s always taken Yuri seriously, even as the immature twat of a fifteen year old he can now admit he was before. It’s the way his eyes harden right before a particularly difficult element. It’s the way he carries himself with the pride and responsibility of representing a country that few people associate with professional athletics. It’s the way he wedged his way into Yuri’s life, becoming a steady rock of dependability and friendship. 

But despite years of regular Skype calls, texts, and the occasional visit, Otabek still surprises Yuri, whether it be with a slightly off kilter video that no one else finds funny but them or a shop in Paris filled with obnoxious and absolutely amazing animal print clothing. 

Except this time Otabek's tendency to surprise Yuri is going to give him a fucking heart attack. The stirring in Yuri's gut has returned tenfold.

 _Well shit._ Yuri screws his eyes shut and tries to stem the flood of mental images of hard muscle and undercuts and _that fucking earring_ but it’s no use. His body, which for all intents and purposes should be thoroughly worn out from the hard day of training, will not relent. He drops his phone onto the couch and unceremoniously shoves his hand down his sweats. 

 _I'm_ so _going to hell for this_. 

* * *

The universe decides to punish Yuri exactly twenty-three seconds after he finishes cleaning himself up in the form of a Skype call request from none other than the star of Yuri’s hormone-crazed imagination. 

Hastily re-arranging his face into an expression that decidedly does _not_ scream I-just-jerked-off-to-the-thought-of-your-face, Yuri presses the accept button. 

Otabek's stoic face emerges onto Yuri's screen. "Yo."

"What's up asshole?" Yuri's tongue feels heavy in his mouth, but maybe that’s just the guilt talking. "Think you're some sort of badass now that you've stabbed a hole through your ear?"

Otabek snorts and the sound makes something warm bloom in Yuri's chest. God, he really has it bad. "My sister convinced me to do it. She’s the one who uploaded the picture.” He turns his head to bring the jewelry into focus. "What do you think?" 

The sight of the earring makes Yuri's body stir with renewed interest, despite the fact that he _just_ took care of that particular problem. Fuck hormones, fuck sexy skaters with their sexy undercuts and sexy earrings. 

“I think you’re using Sofia as an excuse to steal my Russian Punk status. Is the Hero of Kazakhstan tired of his immaculate image?” The blond man rotates his body so his legs are vertical with his body lying perpendicular on the cushions so at least he can blame any redness on his face on gravity.

“If my image can survive being drunk kissed by your friend Mila at Victor and Katsuki’s wedding last year and then getting punched by her date, it can survive an little earring.” The screen may be pixelated, but it doesn’t blur out the small grin that Otabek gives Yuri through the screen. 

Contrary to what the media may think, smiles and jokes aren’t _that_ rare for Otabek but that doesn’t make them any less precious to Yuri. Each one, including the one he gets now, sends Yuri’s heart beating just a little too hard and a little too fast. 

He makes his decision.

If all Yuri felt towards his friend was physical, he could ignore it. Yeah it would feel awkward for a while, but then at least he could just chalk it up to hormone induced lunacy and no one would be the wiser. But these smiles, these late night phone calls, these little private jokes between the two of them, are admittedly the best parts of Yuri’s day. And if Otabek doesn’t feel the same way, all of those precious things would turn stale and awkward between them, possibly fracturing their friendship beyond repair.

But Yuri Plisetsky has risked many things to get himself where he is today. He’s not afraid of taking the ultimate risk if he can reap the ultimate reward.

* * *

“Oi, Katsudon! Open up!” Yuri’s fist hammers the apartment door. Today is one of those rare days that he’s sort of grateful he lives two floors above his coach(es). Makes bothering the idiots time and energy efficient.

The Japanese man answers the door, blessedly alone. “Yurio? What are you doing here? Did Victor tell you to come for dinner and forget to tell me again?” Katsudon moves aside to let Yuri into the apartment. “You’re welcome to stay but you’ll have to wait a bit for dinner. Victor’s just taken Makkachin on a walk.”

Yuri knows this already. He’s timed his visit to coincide with Victor’s regular twilight walk with Makkachin so he can speak to Katsudon alone. For someone who spent a whole career hellbent on surprising the audience, Victor’s living habits are predictable as fuck. Yuri would much rather have this talk with Katsudon, he’s usually much more even tempered and has less of a tendency to flail when he gets excited.

Well, when he’s sober at least.

Yuri sprawls onto the couple’s living room couch and sniffs the air. Whatever Katsudon is making for dinner smells absolutely delectable. He’s _definitely_ staying for dinner. 

Katsudon returns the kitchen to resume his cooking but calls out, “So what brings you here? Having trouble with your step sequences again?”

“No…it’s about something personal.” Yuri thanks the universe that Katsudon cannot currently see him or the blush that’s hellbent on invading his face.

Poking his head out from behind the kitchen wall, Katsudon peers inquiringly at Yuri. “Is everything ok?”

Yuri clenches his fists. _Just fucking do it_. “ HowdidyouknowthatVictorwasinlovewithyou?”

“…eh?” 

Clenching his teeth, Yuri grits out, “How. Did. You. Know. Victor. Was. In. Love. With. You.” He’s sure that his face is probably the color of borscht. 

Katsudon, amazingly, doesn’t ask why Yuri has decided to ask such a personally invasive question. He leaves the kitchen to stand in the doorway to the living room, crossing one arm over his chest and resting his chin on the other. “Well…there was never any one moment that I was certain. I mean when he kissed me in China I knew he was at least attracted to me romantically, but love?” His gaze is thoughtful. “I don’t think there was a sudden moment where I realized he loved me. Our relationship just sort of grew naturally as we spent more and more time together.” 

Yuri rolls his eyes. He knew this was stupid. Him and Otabek are nothing like Victor and Katsudon, they don’t have the convenience of spending every waking moment together to figure their shit out. This talk was clearly not going to help. 

“Whatever, you two were made for each other yaddah yaddah I know. If I had wanted to know that I would have just read your stupid interview with _Vogue Russia_ you idiots did last month since the whole thing was just about your stupid ‘fairytale’ love story.” 

“…so you did read it then?”

“NOT THE POINT!”

Katsudon walks around the couch and shoves Yuri’s legs off the end cushion so he can sit. “Yurio, what did you really come to talk about?”

Huffing out a breath, Yuri replies, “Well, if a friend of mine was interested in someone and hypothetically wanted to do something about it but isn’t sure how that other someone feels…how would you go about it?”

Smart enough not to laugh at Yuri’s roundabout question, Katsudon answers, “Well I wouldn’t change anything about how my and Victor’s relationship developed. But I think we could have saved ourselves a lot of confusion and pain if we had just been direct with each other more. I think if your _friend_ is serious, then they should just put themselves out there and see what happens. If it’s meant to be, it will be.” 

The sound of paws scraping and the front door opening alerts Yuri to Victor’s return. As soon as he’s off his leash, Makkachin bounds in and immediately launches himself at the blond on the couch. 

“VICTOR! Get your mutt off of me!” screeches Yuri in between mouthfuls of fur. 

The silver haired man follows his dog into the room, heart shaped smile reaching dangerous levels of insanity. “Awww! I think he smells your cat Yurio! He loves you!”

A high pitched chirping sound interrupts Makkachin’s attempt to lick Yuri’s face off. Katsudon’s expression instantly morphs from amusement to horror. “My pork!” With that declaration, he rushes back to the kitchen to rescue their dinner from a fiery death. Victor follows suit, yelling something about how they can’t get in trouble with their landlord over yet another kitchen fire. 

Uninterested in helping with the dinner rescue, Yuri rolls over onto his stomach on the couch. He opens his phone and pulls up Otabek’s picture. 

 _Put myself out there huh?_ Narrowing his eyes in concentration, he plans out his next course of action.

_Otabek Altin, you’re never gonna know what’s hit you._

* * *

A few months ago, a haircare company contacted Yuri about a possible endorsement deal. His long, sleek hair is the perfect vehicle to market their new line of shampoos and mousses and whatnot, apparently. 

Fans had initially thought, much to his annoyance, that his waist length hair was a tribute to Victor, his mentor and coach which it _most certainly was not_. He just liked being different from the majority of his competitors, having another aspect of himself stand out from the crowd. Not that he ever leaves it completely down while competing. Victor may have gotten away with just pulling it up into a ponytail for competitions, but Yuri Plisetsky doesn’t do things halfway. He’s made Lilia teach him every type of style and braid she knows and then when she couldn’t teach him anymore, he binge-watched YouTube tutorials like a man possessed. 

He’d done the ad campaign for the money. It was the offseason, so pulling in a little extra was a weight off his shoulders. Other athletes did it all the time. Grandpa wasn’t getting any younger and medical bills, though so far nonexistent, were expensive. 

He spent two whole days shooting for the brand. Most of the ads featured him in only skin tight leather pants and black combat boots to supposedly accentuate the “mile long legs” he was gifted with. 

The main ad is the most simple, but his favorite. He’s standing with his back to the camera, legs parted and hips slightly cocked to one side. His hair is a cascading sheet of gold down his bare back while his head is tilted to look behind himself towards the camera. 

The photographer had told him to make his best ‘I’m better than you’ expression. He’d only needed one shot for that particular pose. 

The ad campaign was only run in Russia so Yuri seriously doubts Otabek would have heard about it, especially since he had said nothing about it in their various communications since the campaign began. 

Through the years, Yuri has noticed that Otabek may have a slight fascination with his hair. He was the one who initially suggested that Yuri keep growing it past his shoulders, and he braids it every time Yuri tries to ride his motorcycle with it loose under the helmet to “stop it from getting tangled and knotted.” Yuri teased him about it the first time it happened, but the Kazakh skater had just shrugged and said, “I don’t want to listen to you complain if you have to spend hours combing it out later.”

Yuri flicks through the photos the company sent him after they had been thoroughly edited. Bruises and scrapes acquired from hitting a hard sheet of ice day in and day out just don’t go away after all. He finds his favorite, and uploads it to Instagram, tagging Otabek in the caption before he can change his mind. 

**yuri-plisetsky**

[image]

 **yuri-plisetsky:** _I don’t need a new fancy earring to be edgy like_ ** _@otabek-altin_**

The blond flops down onto his bed, dropping his phone onto the duvet next to him. 

There’s absolutely no way Otabek can misinterpret a shirtless picture of him in skin tight pants with his hair all loose and shiny.

Right?

* * *

His phone lights up with the notification that Otabek has liked his photo a mere 10 minutes after he’s posted it. A text message follows almost immediately. 

_Otabek: Your hair has grown longer since I last saw you. it looks nice._

Yuri purses his lips and stares that the text, thumbs hovering over the keyboard to respond. Otabek’s response isn’t what most people would call encouraging. 

_Yuri: Thanks, the photo editing makes it look a lot nicer._

_Otabek: I doubt it._

_Otabek: Your hair is beautiful._

Blood floods Yuri’s cheeks. He resists the urge to pull his hoodie over his head and stuff his head under his pillow from embarrassment. Otabek is always unerringly straightforward, but who just _says_ stuff like that? 

But this means Otabek’s interested right? Compliments from Otabek aren’t unusual per say, but he’s not the type to shell out praise every whichever way the wind blows. Or is he just being nice? Otabek may look like a tough guy, but he’s also the person once helped the old lady who lives two doors down from Yuri carry her groceries to her apartment. Or is it just because he has a thing for Yuri’s hair? 

“UGH!”

His fist hits the bed hard, startling Duchess from her slumber. She hisses and streaks out of his bedroom. 

Blowing a stray hair out of his eyes, Yuri mentally regroups. Ok, so Otabek might not have gotten the message from the photo, but there has to be another way to get his attention. 

* * *

Mila unwittingly gives Yuri his next idea for his plan of attack a week later during practice. He’s sipping his water on the bleachers when he overhears her talking to another one of the female skaters. 

“Ha! I knew Andrei would come crawling back.” Mila’s expression is triumphant as she shows the other skater something on her phone.

Whatever’s on the screen must be exciting because the girl gasps and says, “He’s really groveling! What did you do?!”

The redhead smirks and answers, “Well I just posted a few selfies on my SnapChat with his teammate. Jealousy can make men do desperate things, my friend.”

Jealousy, eh? Well if it works for the hag, maybe it’ll work for Yuri.

* * *

The problem, Yuri soon realizes, is that he doesn’t have very many friends. 

Well Victor and Katsudon like to call themselves his friends, but they’re married so there’s actually no chance Otabek would be jealous of seeing them on Yuri’s social media.

Mila, despite the names he calls her, is much more like an older sister to him than anyone he’d even think about dating and Otabek knows that already.

And…that’s about it. Yuri doesn’t really have time to go make new friends with his schedule, not that he wants to. Skating had always been enough for him until Otabek came along and ruined literally everything. 

There’s only one person that Yuri kind-of-sort-of knows at the rink who he feels kind-of-sort-of comfortable asking.

Minami Kenjirou made St. Petersburg his home rink last season to train under Victor after Katsudon retired. He’s a bit annoying with his overly optimistic attitude about _everything_ , but Yuri can tolerate him. He did have to share a rink with Victor Nikiforov, after all. 

The best part is that, as far as Yuri knows, Otabek doesn’t really know Minami at all. They’ve been at the same competitions sure, but Yuri is the only one whom Otabek really makes an effort to hang out with during their downtime, a fact that comes quite in handy at the moment. 

Yuri approaches the Japanese skater after practice while Minami is unlacing his skates. 

Plastering a smile onto his face, Yuri says, “Hey Kenjirou, I heard you landed a quad lutz today, congratulations.” 

Kenjirou practically radiates with excitement and pride. “Thank you Yuri! I’m sure it will bring my skating to the next level!”

Yuri holds up his phone. “We have to commemorate this special moment.” The older skater agrees with enthusiasm. 

The pose they choose is casual, but they’re standing close enough that Yuri can feel the heat from Kenjirou’s face against his own cheek. Yuri has his arm thrown around Kenjirou who is throwing up a victory sign.

As Yuri fiddles with the Snapchat filters, he retreats back into his personal bubble. It takes him a few seconds to realize that Kenjirou is speaking.

“…and we should get some food together sometime you know? I mean we’re rink mates after all not strangers so it’d be super fun! Maybe we could ask everyone else to come with us. We could get Indian or Chinese, although probably not while we train I suppose…”

Tuning him out, Yuri uploads the photo and begins to walk away. He throws a casual hand up as he retreats and says, “Yeah sure whatever. See you tomorrow.”

* * *

A few hours go by and Otabek _still_ hasn’t viewed the Snapchat that Yuri has put on his story. Almaty is three hours ahead, he should have been done practice ages before Yuri. 

Disheartened, Yuri sulks in his bedroom that night. He’s in the middle of brushing Duchess when a Skype call request lights up on his laptop.

Otabek is rolling out his calf muscle when Yuri accepts the call. “Hey.”

“Hi. Is your calf okay?”

“Yeah, it’s just been feeling a bit more stiff than usual lately.” Yuri nods in understanding. At their level, they need to be able to read and respond to their bodies’ slightest twinge, ache, or pain. As Yakov always said, the best treatment is prevention.

Otabek continues, “How’s your free skate choreography coming along?” 

Yuri rolls his eyes. “It’s about halfway there. Victor keeps saying I ‘can’t rush perfection.’ If he doesn’t finish it in the next two weeks I’m kidnapping Lilia from wherever she fucked off to to grow old and making her do it.” 

“You say that every year,” reminds the Kazakh skater. He’s smiling.

The blond smiles back. “Yeah, but I mean it this time. It’s a crime that both her and Yakov leave me in the hands of the two biggest idiots in entire world. Besides JJ, of course.”  
  
“Of course,” echoes Otabek. 

Their conversation falls into its natural rhythm, and before they know it an hour and a half has gone by. 

“You should sleep. Old men like you need their sleep.”

“I’m only two years older than you, Yura.”

Yuri flushes slightly at the nickname. He hopes that the low quality Skype connection won’t show it.

“So…did you see my Snapchat today?” Smooth Yuri, real smooth.

Otabek shakes his head. “No. I don’t usually check it unless someone sends one directly to me.” He takes his phone out and taps around the touchscreen for a few moments. “Oh, who’s that?”

Re-arranging his face into what he hopes is a careless kind of expression, Yuri replies, “Oh that’s the new guy at our rink, Kenjirou Minami. He’s actually much more tolerable than the average person here.” As a last ditch attempt, he adds, “He’s sort of good looking, don’t you think?”

Unfortunately, Otabek doesn’t burst into a jealous rage or even show the slightest bit of irritation.

“He’s got a bit of a baby face. I’m sure the audience thinks he’s cute. I wouldn’t worry about competing against him, though. Your programs have been looking flawless from the videos you’ve sent me.”

Well that was pretty much the exact _opposite_ reaction that Yuri was going for. Though he does appreciate the fact that Otabek understands his dedication to the sport. 

Yuri checks his watch. It’s almost 9pm, which means it’s almost midnight Almaty time. “You should get some rest. You have training tomorrow right?”

Otabek nods the affirmative, and they sign off for the night. 

Closing his laptop, Yuri curls up on the bed, spooning Duchess close to his chest. He wants to scream with frustration. There’s only so much humiliation a twenty year old can take before giving up all hope of getting laid before he’s an old man. 

* * *

The idiots are late again. 

Victor and Katsudon are late to the rink at least once a week. Their excuses usually rotate between Katsudon’s habit of hitting snooze on the alarm before Victor can even register it’s gone off and minor kitchen fires due to Victor’s absolute ineptitude at cooking breakfast. For two full fledged adults, they act more childish than Yuri some days. 

He is skating random figures on the ice when he hears his coaches burst through the door. 

“Yurio! We’re sorry we’re late! We had to pick up a surprise!” calls Victor. Yuri can practically hear the smile in the man’s voice which means this surprise can’t be anything good. 

“You’re both late and I’ve been up since the ass crack of dawn I don’t care about whatever dumb surprise you’ve come up with,” replies Yuri without even gracing his coaches with a look. 

“Well that’s a shame. I guess I’ll just catch the next flight back to Almaty, then.”

Yuri spins around so fast that his braid whips him in the face. He doesn’t care.

“Beka?!”

His ears weren’t lying. Otabek Altin is trailing behind Victor and Katsudon. He’s wearing practice clothes and has his skates slung over his shoulder. He deposits a backpack onto the bleachers and sits down to lace up.

Yuri practically flies across the ice to slam into the boards next to him. “What are you doing here?! I thought you were in the middle of training for next season!”

Otabek finishes putting his skates on and gets to his feet. Smiling at Yuri’s incredulous expression, he says, “I’ve asked Katsuki to choreograph my free skate for next season. My coach and I both decided I needed to change it up, so he sent me here for a week to learn it. It was going to be a surprise.”

A week?! Otabek will be here a whole week?!  
  
“Where are you staying? Are you staying with these fuckers? They’ll keep you up all night with their goddamn—” Yuri shudders for emphasis, “—noises.”

“Hey that was ONE time Yurio!” protests Katsudon as he fiddles with the sound machine. Victor cackles in the background. 

“Victor and Katsuki were kind enough to let me use their guest bedroom,” answers Otabek. He leans across the boards to whisper in Yuri’s ear, “Don’t worry, I brought my noise cancelling headphones.”

Heat blooms across Yuri’s cheeks when he realizes just how close Otabek is. All it would take is a simple turn of his head to kiss the Kazakh skater, if he wanted. And oh, did he want it. He can see Otabek’s new earring in his peripheral vision and just looking at it turns the heat up on his face tenfold. Stupid fucking earring, stupid fucking hormones, stupid fucking Kazakh skaters who are too nice and too attractive for their own good.

Clapping his hands, Victor skates up next to Yuri. “Well as much as I’d like to discuss my very fulfilling sex life, it’s time to work children! I’m not getting any younger here.”

Startled out of his reverie, Yuri bites out, “Yeah we know. We can tell by your hairline old man.”

Victor’s outraged shriek nearly shatters the rink’s windows.  

* * *

Having Otabek visit St. Petersburg is good, Yuri thinks, because this way he can just tell Otabek how he feels without the impersonal distance of texting or Skyping. He’s given up on subtlety. Clearly, if he wants to make this happen, he just has to confess to his best friend that, in no uncertain terms, he’s very much in love with him and would also like to climb him like a tree if Otabek wouldn’t mind. 

Except Yuri doesn’t do it that day. It’s the first day of Otabek’s visit, his mind reasons. Otabek just got here, and a potentially awkward and emotionally devastating conversation does not a good welcome make. 

Instead, Yuri takes Otabek to his favorite ice cream parlor after practice. They discuss choreography and music and skating, but they also talk about Otabek’s family back home and Yuri’s distaste for pistachios and how one would hot-wire a motorcycle if one so desired. 

Later, they have dinner with Victor and Katsudon and after the table has been cleared, the four of them pile onto the couple’s couch to watch a movie. It’s all very domestic, and normally Yuri would gag at the idea of such an evening but no normal person, let alone Yuri, can complain when they’re curled up in a blanket with Otabek Altin dozing on their shoulder. 

When he walks up the stairs back to his own apartment that night, Yuri resolves to tell Otabek tomorrow. Get it over with and, if Otabek rejects him, then he can spend the rest of the week trying to salvage their friendship.

* * *

Except Yuri doesn’t tell Otabek the next day.

Or the next day.

Or the day after that.

Until suddenly, it is Otabek’s last day in Russia and Yuri must come to terms with the fact that he is the biggest fucking coward in the world. 

It’s late afternoon, and since Victor gave both of them the day off, Yuri and Otabek are wasting time playing video games in Yuri’s apartment. As Yuri fires off his weapon at Otabek’s character, he mentally forms a plan for tonight:

They will have dinner with Victor and Katsudon one last time and Yuri will excuse them for dessert. He will take Otabek out for dessert and afterwards, they will search for a tall, climbable building, one that has a view of the entire city. As the moon rises and stars begin to fill in the sky, they will admire St. Petersburg at night and that will set the perfect stage for Yuri to confess. It’ll be romantic and perfect and absolutely foolproof.

But as the late afternoon sun dips down in the sky, it casts an orange-y glow across Yuri’s living room through the window. Otabek’s form seems outlined in a haze of soft light. And while Yuri’s too busy staring at the glowing curve of Otabek’s neck, his character on the screen dies and Otabek lets out a triumphant and full bellied laugh.

“I love you.”

The words slip out involuntarily and it takes Yuri a second to even realize he’s said them. He wants to take them back, stuff them back deep into his chest, save them for tonight or never because Otabek is looking at him strangely now and Yuri has no idea what that means and he _hates_ it. 

“Yura…what did you say?” 

Deep breath. He’s said it, and as much as he wishes he hadn’t it’s too late to turn back now. He hopes Otabek will forgive him for ruining their friendship. “I said…I love you. I’ve known for a while, and I’ve hinted at it but you never seemed to get the hint or whatever so I’m just telling you now. I love you and I’m sorry if this ruins everything or we can’t be friends anymore because of it but I’d rather be friends than nothing so if you don’t feel the—”

Otabek chooses to cut off Yuri’s blabbering by leaning over, sliding one hand through Yuri’s hair to cradle the back of his head and sealing his lips over the blond’s. Otabek, Yuri notes, kisses like he skates: with no room for hesitation. The kiss sends electricity buzzing up and down his entire body.

Yuri’s not sure if they separate in a few seconds or a few years, but he does know that he’s blushing again. Goddamn pale, expressive skin. His only consolation is that Otabek’s tan skin has a slight flush to it as well. 

Otabek is still cradling Yuri’s head with his hand when he says, “Yura, when I was ten years old, I met a boy who had more grace in his little finger than I had in my entire body. His eyes held the strength of a thousand men, and I’ve never forgotten them. I love you. If this was what you wanted, all you had to do was ask.”

The heated blush on Yuri’s face escalates to a full blown burn at Otabek’s confession. Then—

“Wait a damn minute! You mean you had no idea how I felt?! Even when I posted that fucking shirtless picture? Even when I tried to make you jealous with Kenjirou?” It’s stupid, to be irritated about this, especially when he was sucking face with his friend (boyfriend?) just thirty seconds ago, but Yuri is the first to admit he’s a little petty.

Otabek removes his hand from the back of Yuri’s head, carding it through his long hair and resting it on the blond’s knee. His expression is serious when he replies, “Is that what you were doing? I had no idea.”  
  
The earnest tone of his voice makes Yuri snort. “Yeah, clearly.” He leans forward and presses a quick, chaste kiss to Otabek’s lips. “It’s fine. I forgive you, I guess.”

In a swift flurry of movement, the dark haired man scoops Yuri off of the couch and deposits the younger man into his lap. “I guess I’ll just have to make it up to you,” he murmurs into Yuri’s ear. His lips brush the shell of his ear, sending shivers down Yuri’s spine. Not to be outdone, Yuri smirks and bends to flick his tongue against the goddamn earring that caused this problem (solution?) in the first place. 

“You better.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed my first published fic! This was so self-indulgent; I basically took all of the tropes I love about this couple and squished them into 6k. It was unbeta'ed so all mistakes are mine and mine alone. 
> 
> If you're willing to give feedback/kudos I'd really appreciate it!


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